


Letters

by girlingoldboots



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Gen Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-02
Updated: 2011-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-22 03:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlingoldboots/pseuds/girlingoldboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fragments of notes that Molly receives. Prompt was poem #3 for thegameison_sh LJ community.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing to note, but if you're so inclined the tip jar is open:  
> [Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A4012NV1)

Poem 3

"You will always be with me if I can write," read the first letter she received. On plain white paper, typed with an old-fashioned typewriter and scented with a hint of the cologne he used as 'Jim'.

Molly tossed it aside and it wasn't long before another one appeared. No address and no sender. One didn’t have to be Sherlock to figure out who had sent them and why. She still was not sure if she should think of him as 'Moriarty', the man who tried to kill Sherlock; or 'Jim', the sweet man who seemed to love her because she was...well, her. She crumpled it up and tossed it aside in the bin.

" _You will be me and I will love you in the darkness._ " came the second letter. This one she placed in the paper shredder with some grim satisfaction. She missed him most at night. She missed his comfortable mass next to her, his weight on top of her, and God help her she missed the feeling o f him falling asleep inside her. After sex both she and him were reluctant to part from one another. That surely could not have been faked. A bit of Sherlock in the back of her mind informed her that it could indeed be faked.

She stayed at work late that night.

" _These waves of the sea that I gaze at with your eyes._ " read the third and this she handed over to Lestrade as a possible clue as to Moriarty's location. She endured a lecture from him and Sherlock's brother upping security at her flat as well as St. Bart's.

She thought of when she dreamily told Jim about her childhood by the sea, and how more than a part of her wanted to go back it its shimmering fairy-like other world. Christ she was such a fool.

" _Into red age._ " said a fourth one and that one made her scared. She spent a few days at Baker Street, and a few more at a safehouse before it was determined that she would be alright. She knew he was angry. It was the kind of angry that you had best shut down and stay silent until the storm had passed. It was the kind of angry she told herself she would never see again once she left her parent's home. She shivered with more than a chill and borrowed one of John's jumpers to keep the nightmares at bay.

" _Where love itself might begin._ " read a fifth. This was different. Written on Met stationary and in Lestrade's clear hand. This letter was enclosed in a bag with a scone and paired with a coffee. He had brought it and handed it to her. She had been crying and done a poor job covering it up. Lestrade pretended not to notice. Molly felt foolish, and when she discovered the note she ripped it into many small pieces. She stared at the mess she made. Grabbing her pen she scribbled We might even smile out from the poems on her pink, kitten motif stationary and left it in an envelope on his desk and hoped no one else would see it.

Then she spent the rest of the afternoon piecing back together the torn note.


End file.
